


Burn Bright

by sickfromthetrebel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt, Suicide Attempt, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickfromthetrebel/pseuds/sickfromthetrebel
Summary: gerard way knows that he means nothing to God. Frank Iero knows he's not safe in a small, conservative town in buttfuck New Jersey. But is running away with a quirky stranger the best route to freedom?first chapter posted :)
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 4





	Burn Bright

Give me all you’ve got - Franks pov:

It hurt, but the louder you screamed, the more punches they’d throw. The more times they’d spit on you and kick your ribs to the point where you thought they’d been cracked and broke. It was best to just lay down, try and conceal your face and hide your neck, and take the hits and punches as they shout every slur under the sun at you, push your head on the ground, choke you. The taste of blood and gravel filling your mouth as you slip in and out of consciousness.

That’s the lesson I had to learn quickly. There wasn’t much else to think or to react in the situation. Waking up at 4 am in an alley three miles from your apartment isn’t something most people would prepare for. There was nothing I could do but take it. Take the four grown men beating me to absolute shit and probably coming not far from killing me. The ache and stabbing pain in every inch of my body is now a constant reminder of the night before. There’s blood on my sheets from who knows what wound. I never bothered to go to the ER, it’s not like I could afford it. I’ll live. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the cheap and shitty mattress creaking underneath me. I low groan escapes my lips unintentionally as I push myself up from the pillows, my head spinning and the taste of vomit arriving in my throat. The ringing in my ears starts up again, a high pitched sound screaming that I haven’t been able to escape for hours. A shower sounds like a miracle, but I know that I can’t stand that long.

Walking to the bathroom just around the corner takes more effort than I’d like to admit. I may or may not have leaned against the doorframe for at least 3 minutes, trying to push away the screaming pain throughout my entire body and catch my breath. It hurts to breathe, It hurts to blink, hurts to move. It feelslike I’d ben ran over by a fucking sixteen-wheeler, and I absolutely look the part as well. It wouldn’t actually be a shock if I was the be hit by a fucking sixteen-wheeler, there’s plenty enough around this place. I guess that’s part of living in a stupid highway town. The rampat conservatives as well. 

I flick the light on, quickly leaning over the sink to puke, there’s blood, but that’s really not my biggest concern. I lift my head up to look at myself in the mirror, black spots splattering my vision and heat in my head. My hair is plastered to my face, sickly and pale, and sticking up in every direction. My left eye is completely bruised with blue and black and red and my definitely nose looks no better. My lip is split open, thankfully on the opposite side of my piercing and still bleeding slightly. There’s burns and scrapes across my cheeks and forehead. I slowly pry my shirt off, the fabric sticking to my back covered in sweat as my body screams in pain. There are burns on my shoulders and collarbones from being shoved face first into gravel, and there are still small pieces of road in the wounds. I look down, noticing that there’s a good-sized gash over the face of the sparrow tattooed near my right hip. Fuck, that better heal and not scar. I can’t help but stop and simply stare at my bruised and beaten reflection in the dirty, dusty mirror. The glittery eyeshadow on the counter is a mocking symbol from last night. I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Fuck this. 

Getting dressed proved to be just as difficult as getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom, if not more. The cotton in my sweatpants simply clings to the scrapes and cuts on my knees, the wounds burning. I finish the grueling task of putting on clothes, grab the almost empty pack of cigarettes from my nightstand and walk over to the single window in my apartment, sitting on the half-collapsed couch that my old roommate had left me . I light one, my hands shaking around the lighter, and at that point, I can’t hold it back anymore. The tears start pouring out before I can even take a single drag. The cigarette burns out slowly in my hand as I just fucking sob. It’s not like I can go out and get more looking like this. I need to get the hell out of here. There’s simply nothing left for me in this stupid fucking town with these stupid fucking people. I’ve never belonged here, and last night really did a great job at proving that point.


End file.
